


As Atlas Did the Sky

by shadow_djinni



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Haxus Redemption Arc, Multi, Sendak Redemption Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_djinni/pseuds/shadow_djinni
Summary: A quiet evening, after the war.





	As Atlas Did the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> There is a kind of love called maintenance,  
> Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it;  
> Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget  
> The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;  
> Which answers letters; which knows the way  
> The money goes, which deals with dentists  
> And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,  
> And postcards to the lonely; which upholds  
> The permanently rickety elaborate  
> Structures of living…  
> \--U A Fanthorpe, _Atlas_

The soft murmur of voices catches, distantly, in Haxus’s ears, and he lifts his head to peer thoughtfully at the door to the kitchen, blinking in the brighter light streaming through the open doorway.

He’s been curled up on the most comfortable cushion in the common area for a few hours, now, pouring over Shiro’s prosthetic, slowly taking it apart to reconstruct the blueprints on his holopad.  Small metal pieces sit, neatly arrayed, across the cushion in front of him--the exterior panelling, wiring that had been tendons and ligaments and the strong pistons replacing the musculature of the forearm.  It’s all too familiar, from decades building and rebuilding Sendak’s prosthetics, and yet not familiar at all--the configurations of the muscles are odd, the connective tissue structured differently, the fingers too delicate and forearm too short.

And yet, this task is necessary--Haggar’s designs are serviceable, but Haxus _loathes_ working on them, and Shiro has spent _enough_ time with this ugly hunk of metal on his body.  But without at least a rough blueprint, he can’t design his own.  He returns his attention to the prosthetic, to reattaching the tendons, but his ears tilt towards the door to the kitchen, just listening.

Sendak’s voice meets his ears first, too soft to make out his words, but Haxus doesn’t need them, more intent on the soft lilt of his speech, his low, smoky voice rolling over his vowels.  Shiro responds a moment later, higher and sharper. Haxus can picture them clearly--Sendak leaning over the stove, tending to something in a saucepan, with Shiro perched on the counter beside him, handing him ingredients and spices.

Really, it’s better like that.  Between the three of them, Sendak’s the only one trustworthy in the kitchen.

He shakes his head gently, focusing on his task, and the arm takes shape again beneath his hands.  As always, he lingers on the details--the odd structure in the wrist that might be a vestigial muscle, the blunt, clawless curve of the fingers.  Humans are odd little things, he determined that long ago, and they haven’t become _less_ odd since he began courting one.

Someone raps on the doorframe to get his attention, and Haxus jumps, fumbling one of the exterior panels, and spins towards them.  And drops his gaze by two feet, because it’s Shiro standing there, and he’s used to looking up to Sendak’s towering height.

“Hey,” Shiro says, and Haxus nods in greeting.  “Sen says dinner should be ready in a couple minutes.”

“Let me guess, he wants me to set the table,” Haxus replies.

“If you’ve got a free hand,” Shiro says, grinning, and Haxus chuckles and finishes reattaching the exterior panel and sets the prosthetic aside.

“I suppose I have one you could borrow,” he says.  His eyes flick to Shiro’s right side, where his sleeve hangs slack below the elbow.

Some part of him doesn’t want to give the prosthetic back, wants to encourage Shiro to wait until he’s finished his blueprint and built a new one.  The rest knows that Shiro struggles to manage with only one arm, much more than Sendak ever has. He rises to his hand and offers the arm to Shiro, who carefully reconnects it and leans up to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’ll get napkins,” Shiro says, and ducks back out of the common room.

Haxus watches him until he’s out of sight, then makes his way into the kitchen.

Sendak is exactly where Haxus expected him, stirring at the simmering contents of his pan, and he takes a moment to admire the arch of Sendak’s neck, the broad curve of his shoulders.  The kitchen is fragrant, the air thick with the smell of spices and cooking meat, and something faintly starchy underneath, almost too much for Haxus to process. He hums a greeting, and Sendak hums back, glancing up at him sidelong.

“How are the blueprints coming, love?” Sendak asks.

“They’re coming,” Haxus replies, padding across the room to the cabinet with the plates.  “Haggar should never have been allowed to design prosthetics. I’m revoking her license when we hunt her down.”

“I don’t think she ever _had_ one to begin with,” Sendak says.  Haxus pulls the plates down and glances back at him, watches him switch smoothly from the simmering pan to check a pan at the back of the stove.  Opening the lid releases more of the starchy scent, and it isn’t one Haxus is familiar with, but he certainly doesn’t object to it. Sendak’s ears perk upright, pleased.

“All the more reason to never let her near a prosthetic again.  Her designs are a _mess_.”  Haxus retrieves the silverware next, putting them on the plates for easier carrying.  “I’m beginning to think I might be better off asking Shiro for a scan of his left forearm and inverting the structure.”

“What’s this about inverting my structure?” Shiro asks, ducking back through the doorway with an arm full of cloth.

“Hax wants a scan of your left forearm for your new prosthetic,” Sendak says.  One hand reaches for the temperature controls, shutting off the burner under the back pan.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for one sooner,” Shiro says, and joins Haxus at the table, dropping a napkin beside the plate Haxus set down.  He bumps his hip against Haxus’s--well, against his upper thigh, really.

Perhaps this is how Sendak feels, when Haxus does the same to him--the height difference is nearly the same, there.

“I was hoping the Witch’s design would be a little more transparent,” Haxus grumbles.  “Or that you would be more similar to what I’m used to working with, at that. Those stumpy little fingers…”

“They aren’t stumpy,” Shiro protests.

Sendak chuckles at the stove.  “Funny, I remember you complaining about their length just last night.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Shiro protests, and Haxus can’t help laughing at the scandalized look on his face.  “Just because they aren’t _Galra_ hands doesn’t mean they’re _stumpy_.”

“They _are_ a bit short, proportionally speaking,” Haxus says.

“They’re perfectly normal for a human,” Shiro mutters, and if his ears were mobile Haxus thought they might have been twitching.  His brow had furrowed, lips twisting in a scowl.

“Humans have short fingers, then,” Haxus shoots back.

“Don’t bully him, Hax,” Sendak chides, and shuts the stove off entirely.  He lifts the pans by their handles and makes his way towards the table.

“Whose side are you _on_ , love?”

“Whoever’s spooning me tonight.”  Sendak’s tone is smug, his eye dancing with light, and he quickly sidesteps Haxus’s attempt to swat him--and walks right into Shiro, who gets an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

“Then I call dibs,” Shiro says, grinning.

“I’m on Shiro’s side,” Sendak declares.  Haxus’s eyes fixate on Shiro’s hand at Sendak’s waist, the way his fingers press Sendak’s loose shirt against his side.

“...Brat,” Haxus mutters.  Both Sendak and Shiro laugh at that.

“The brat who cooked your dinner,” Sendak replies, deceptively mild.  “You have to be nice to me, unless you want to eat food goo.”

Haxus makes a gagging sound, and the tension disperses--Shiro releases Sendak, who sets the pans down on the table and stoops to kiss the human on the forehead, then does the same to Haxus on the way to his chair.  Haxus resists the urge to pull Sendak down for a real kiss, sitting down himself and snatching the serving utensil for the nearest pan, using it to tip the lid off onto the table. The bottom of the pan is occupied with an unfamiliar root vegetable, golden-fleshed and slightly firm to Haxus’s tentative, exploratory prod, and he shrugs and scoops it onto his plate.  He passes it off to Shiro and takes the saucepan from Sendak, sniffing at the contents.

This he recognizes--verrak mushrooms, a staple most cruisers cultivate even in deep space, probably grown in their own hold.  They’ve been sauteed with some kind of fruit alcohol--the sweet tang of it hits the back of Haxus’s throat, mingled with some sort of savory spices--and bite-size chunks of what must be bov steak, from their freezers.  He ladles it onto his plate, careful to get the sauce too. Then he passes it on to Shiro and takes a bite.

“Well?” Sendak asks, his ears tilting curiously.

Haxus swallows, wishing immediately that he’d taken the time to savor it.  “Delicious as always, love,” he says. “New recipe?”

“Shiro and I were experimenting,” Sendak replies.

“Shiro and you have good taste,” Haxus says, and takes another bite, getting some of the root vegetable this time.  “And what’s this?”

“We picked it up last time we went planetside,” Shiro says, twirling his fork thoughtfully.  “I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s edible and it cooks up like a potato.”

“A _potato_?”

“It’s an Earth tuber,” Sendak says.  “Shiro said they’re starchier than this, right?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says around a bite.  “These wouldn’t mash as well without some kind of added starch, but they’re good enough pan-fried.”

Haxus hums, acknowledging it.  “Maybe add salt to them next time, love?” he says, and Sendak nods--Haxus can already see him revising whatever he did with them for next time.

“Yeah, I agree with Haxus,” Shiro says.  “And not necessarily something _salty_ in the saute, but it’s missing…...something.”

“Savory, then?” Sendak asks, his head tilting.  “It could probably do with a little more stock, to balance the wine out some.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Shiro says, and takes another bite.  He chews, swallows, and adds, “If I wasn’t planning to marry you already, I’d do it for the food alone.”

“That’s why I did it,” Haxus says.  Sendak’s jaw drops, and Haxus can’t help laughing.

“And here I’d hoped you two wanted me for my _personality_ ,” Sendak huffs.  “That’s what I get for choosing two people who can’t cook.”

“Hey, I want you for your personality,” Shiro protests.  “The cooking’s just a bonus.”

“Thanks, my light,” Sendak says, and shoots Haxus a sidelong look.

“What?  I loved you before you knew how to cook,” Haxus says.  “I get a free pass, there.”

“You just said you married him for his cooking,” Shiro says.

“That was just the _deciding_ factor,” Haxus huffs, flattening his ears and sinking sulkily in his chair, until Sendak leans over to nuzzle the side of his neck.

“We’re teasing, love,” Sendak says, and Haxus grumbles at him and pulls him in for a kiss.


End file.
